Statistics
by Light Brown Shoes
Summary: Jane and Bingley are taking a trip- unfortunately for Jane, the trip requires a quick plane ride. Terrified of flying, and forced to sit in a window seat, she's sure the plane ride will actually take years- if the thing doesn't crash and kill them all first.


She took several deep breaths, her grip tight on her armrests. She had first chosen an aisle seat, completely thankful that she had managed to reach one in time, but had been forced to move to the window seat when an elderly woman had asked if she could sit next to her husband, who was located across the aisle. She, of course, had complied, sure that her saving grace would be a heart attack before the plane lifted off, saving her from having to watch the disappearing ground. Bingley had offered to switch with her, but the pilot had called for seatbelts to be buckled a minute earlier and she had refused to move since.

"What are the odds again?" she asked Bingley, moving only her eyes to look at him, lest the plane begin to move and she wasn't braced into her seat properly. The old woman sat back in her seat, sighing as her husband opened a book. She looked around, her eyes landing on Jane, and smiled. Jane smiled back, and the woman took the opportunity.

She turned in her seat, leaning over Bingley, her eyes wide and earnest. "He's just so obsessed with his boats," she said, waving her hand as if to say, _Oh, these men!_ Jane offered a weak smile, trying her best to keep her head firmly against the seat.

"You're more likely to die in an accident on the way to the airport," Bingley replied once the woman had sat back. "We made it to the airport, though! So we're not going to crash!" He let out a laugh, putting his hand on Jane's. Jane smiled at him, wanting to take flip her hand over and grab his, but she didn't think her fingers could uncurl from her armrest. A small place in the back of her mind screamed that she would be stuck on the plane forever, her grip on the small, padded rests to great to ever be released, but she shoved that thought out. _Stop being silly!_

The old woman sat forward again and frowned. "I don't think that's how it works," she mused.

The two were quiet. Bingley blinked slowly, Jane didn't breathe.

"Of course, I'm probably wrong," she went on, "but I wouldn't put my faith in statistics! Nasty government plots, as my son says."

Jane nodded quickly. "Of course," she replied.

Bingley tapped his chin. "So," he said, slowly, "The government." He enunciated it, drawing 'government' to a quick, staccato cloase.

"Yes, dear, the government," the woman said. "Now, you want to know a statistic that I beat? Marriage! My Georgie and I have been married, oh, about fifty two years now! Now how's about that for beating a statistic? That government, always trying to make people feel better with statistics… but they're not true! Another thing I beat was cancer… they said I only had a ninety three per cent change of living! I could have died! A seven per cent chance of death! I sure beat that one, huh? Why, I also went to the car wash once- three people had died in a machine malfunction in the past fifty years- but I lived!"

Jane nodded and smiled, though she wasn't sure what the woman was trying to say. Bingley kicked her foot gently, and when she looked over he mouthed, _Senile! _his grin so wide that his face was split in two.

She frowned at him, (he stopped immediately, upset at the thought that he had disappointed his wife,) and looked back to the woman. "Congradulations," she said, unsure of what else to say. "You really are a lucky one."

"Oh, don't you know it! All two of my children survived- Ben and Susan, those are their names. So pretty, aren't they now? My Georgie came up with Ben, but I thought of Susan!" She smiled, showing all her teeth. "Isn't it pretty? I always hated my name- Ann- I thought it was so boring! But _Susan_! Doesn't it just roll off the tongue? I also had three or four dogs in my life… all of them lived until the age of fifteen! Can you believe it?"

Jane smiled again. Bingley squeezed her hand, opening his mouth to say something when he was cut off.

"My Georgie just loved those dogs… I, myself, am a cat lover- I bet that surprised you! Another statistic I beat!- but that doesn't mean I didn't love them! Oh, Spot was my favorite. I named him. Such a nice name! I thought of it, all by myself! So, are you two married? Newlyweds? I would guess newlyweds. Oh, dears, it only gets better from here! How long have you been married?"

"We married about a year and three months ago-"

"Oh, splendid!" Ann cried, cutting Bingley off again. "So that would be a June wedding! How I love June weddings. My own wedding was in June! June fifth! What a nice date. Doesn't it just sound like a bird?"

Bingley's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you mean a bell?"

"No, silly, a bird! I say bird… haven't you been paying attention? I beat statistics!"

Bingley pursed his lips and nodded, shooting a look at Jane. She smiled again, (to be honest, she wasn't sure if it was a new smile each time or the same smile, stretched bigger,).

Just then the plane lurched forward. Jane let out a gasp.

"Wait! What happened to the safety course?" she whispered, her throat tight, her mind screaming at her vocal chords to join it in yelling.

"They went through it already," Bingley said. "When she was telling us about her dogs." He smiled at her and gave her cheek a quick kiss. "We'll be fine, though," he whispered in her ear. "I promise."

She nodded, her lip quivering. The plane lurched again, and she almost choked. Distantly, she heard a voice telling her the time, but she couldn't bring herself to focus on it, because now the plane was speeding down the runway… faster… faster… and now it was lifting higher and high and she wouldn't look out the window, no she wouldn't, she couldn't see the ground getting smaller and smaller as the tiny metal plane shot into the air using only two engines that could crash any minute sending them thousands of miles to the ground below as everyone screamed and-

"Jane. Jane. It's alright. Jane, honey."

She jerked out of her thoughts, realizing that she had, at last, flipped her hand and clutched Bingley's, her nails digging into his skin.

"Jane, it's okay. We're going to be okay… Calm down… We're okay. Everything is good." He placed his other hand on top of hers. "It's only a thirty minute flight… we'll be fine."

Jane turned her head, her eyes wide, to face Bingley. He smiled at her, his smile so familiar and so sweet and warm, his face completely calm, and her panic subsided just a bit.

"That's just a guess, though! Based on statistics, dear! Have I told you about stat-"

Bingley frowned and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Jane," he said loudly, "According to statistics, three hundred thousand of three hundred thousand and fifty people make it off the plane alive."

"Dear, that's-"

"Statistics also tell us that ninety nine out of a hundred people make it back from the airplane bathroom to their seats unharmed."

"Where are you get-"

"One in three coffee cups have sugar. Yours in the one, in our situation."

The old woman bristled. "At my house-"

"Only twelve out of fourteen fish have swallowed a fish hook and lived," Bingley went on, widening his eyes and talking more loudly. Jane smiled, a real smile, not a forced one anymore, and a small laugh escaped her lips.

_Jane! _She chided herself when she realized she was smiling, _Stop laughing at this!_

Bingley grinned at Jane's giggle, showing his teeth. "You know," he continued, "Nine out of ten men dislike poisons."

"Poison? Now, wai-"

"And forty three out of fifty older men regret their lactose intolerance."

Jane laughed out loud at this, forgetting, for a moment, that they were fifteen thousand feet up. She covered her mouth, letting go of the right armrest, and glanced around, hoping she hadn't disturbed anyone.

"My Georgie isn't lac-"

"I have heard that only one in twenty women enjoy chocolate," he said. Jane widened her eyes and took an exaggerated gasp. "No," she cried, "That's not possible! I must know all the chocolate-loving women in the world!"

Bingley smiled. "That you do, my love. It seems as if you lived with the clan of chocolate-lovers!"

"Now, hold on, I _love _cho-"

"They say that only one in a hundred people over the age of seventy seven enjoy reading,"

"My mother loved to-"

"And only one of one hundred people over the age of seventy seven that enjoy reading like mysteries,"

"Mysteries are a fav-"

"One in ten people named Ann won't be able to eat their cake on their eightieth birthday," he said.

"What? Where are you getting these?" Finally, Bingley and Jane turned back to face the old woman, who was waving her hands around frantically. "Young man, I'll let you know that I _will _be eating cake- vanilla cake! My daughter bakes… or, she used to. She hasn't in ten or eleven years… but my son fixes cars, you know, and he'll bake me one if she can't! Georgie! Georgie! Do you hear this?" She turned back to Bingley and Jane and narrowed her eyes. "I think you're lying about all these statistics," she said. "But even if you weren't, the joke is on you because I beat statistics!" She sat back and folded her arms, frowning and staring at the seat in front of her. Bingley turned back to Jane, a playful light in his eyes.

"Do you know of any?"

Jane paused and looked up at the ceiling, biting her lip. "We-ell," she said, "I _have _heard that one in twelve Darcies come into life wearing bowties." Bingley laughed loudly, putting his arm around Jane's shoulder and settling back into his seat.

"I have also heard," Jane went on, "That one in four bags of chips are nothing but air."

Bingley pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "That's a statistic I believe. Stupid chips," he grumbled. Jane laughed.

"Six out of ten children dislike bananas," Bingley said.

"Nineteen out of twenty people are very nice to their mailman," Jane remarked.

"One in seven have a favorite color of red."

"Sixteen of eighteen love grass."

"Nine out of twenty eight year olds have a fear of the swings."

Jane bit her lip. "I can't think of anything," she said. "This is going to fast; you're the one that's good at improve."

"Hmm…" Bingley started, "I do know two more… the first is that nine out of ten women find me _very _attractive," he said.

"Oh? Is that so?" She asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye, feeling his breath warm on her cheek.

"The second is that I only find one out of three point two billion woman absolutely, completely, without doubt beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her cheek. A smile spread across her face, and, before she knew what he was doing, Bingley stood up and stretched. "We're here!" he cried, and reached down to grasp her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Come along, m'lady. We must be off to see the ocean at once!"

She hadn't even realized that they had landed.


End file.
